Bill's Bilge

I'm a novelist, short story writer, and newspaper columnist. Other than that, I'm just another run down, beaten down, slapped down, broken down, shot down, hung down, put down, and kicked around old Boomer who's been beaten up, tied up, chewed up, blown up, hung up, screwed up, messed up, held up, and told to shut the hell up.
I'll be posting some of my short stories, chapters from my novels, the occasional odd thought or observation plus any other bilge that comes to mind.

Friday, February 22, 2008

ANGIE'S ADVENTURES - short story

Buford the Beagle

It feels like spring here in Austin town. This story is supposed to be funny, taking a jaundiced look at the perils of certain spring-time outdoor activities. Some may find the contents a bit risque and possibly in questionable taste. Others might decide it's trite and boring. Both could be right. Feel free to let me know what you think.

Bayou Bill

==

Angie's Adventures: a cautionary taleby Bill Fullerton

You and your soul mate are alone in a sun-kissed pasture, entwined in a torrid lover’s knot. High times and hot sex fill the afternoon you and your lover spend on a serene hillside. The two of you make slow, sensual love in an intimate grotto tucked behind a tropical waterfall.

Hot, steaming, al fresco sex is a favorite fantasy for many folks. That’s why it’s a common subject in romance and erotic writing.

Great sex in the great outdoors can happen. But fiction writers seldom give the whole, unvarnished story of such encounters. It’s true that nature can be breathtakingly beautiful. But when it comes to sex, beds are best. Those of a contrary opinion are both wrong, and encouraged to consider the trials and tribulations of Angelina Eveready.

As is the case with many otherwise sane, normal people born and raised in the big city, Angie yearned for bucolic bliss. Her all-consuming fantasy was to make unbridled love with a rugged, yet sensitive, mountain man in the great out-of-doors. In her imagination, passion overwhelms them in some secluded mountain glade during a summer rainstorm, or they would make love while swimming nude in a tranquil lake, or the two of them frolic in an isolated meadow filled with songbirds and flowers.

So entrenched was this longing for splendor in the grass, after the fall semester of her freshman year, she defied her parents and transferred from Elitist Private University to that bastion of rural virtues, Wodehouse College.

When Angie arrived in January, the much praised WC campus proved to be cold, dreary, and disappointing. The weather was too miserable to do anything outside and there wasn’t much to do inside except study, sort through the male student body, and go to basketball games. To Angie, it seemed like spring had been cancelled due to boredom.

Then April arrived and signs of nature’s renewal began showing up everywhere. The sun became warmer, the days longer, and student apparel skimpier. All this renewed Angie’s primal longing to play nymph to some insatiable satyr in an elysian field of erotic delights.

It was her good fortune to possess those qualities most needed to fulfill her desires. She was a female and in love with the ideal of love. In other words, she was easy. It didn’t hurt that her earth-mother figure and exotic good looks attracted men ranging in age from pre-school to post-senility.

That fall’s crop of freshmen females had been a poor one, boasting few blue-ribbon keepers. This paucity of prime pulchritude and her own ample charms made Angie an instant, and much sought after, sensation.

After an extensive sampling of possible partners, Angie settled on Ernie. No doubt this choice struck some as odd. For while it’s true he was sort of handsome when viewed in a certain light, Ernie was not the rugged, mountain man type. Nor was he interested in becoming one. Having grown up in the rustic region surrounding the Wodehouse campus, he tended to take nature for granted. In his opinion, the best thing about the outdoors was coming indoors.

But though built on the long and lanky model and no woodsman, he was patient and smart. Those attributes played a vital role in the remarkable improvement in Angie’s academic fortunes.

To her credit, Angie was quick to reward this kindness. To her delight, Ernie’s slender frame was more than offset by two compensating factors. A member of the school’s cross-country track team; he possessed great stamina. And then there was his being, to quote a locker-room wag, “hung like a Missouri mule.” After becoming aware of both factors, Angie shifted her rewards program into overdrive.

None of that “rewarding” activity lessened her wish to experience pastoral passion, however. With her full lips, enticing cleavage, and almost total lack of anything even faintly resembling a sexual inhibition, Angie seldom had trouble coaxing men. Long before the first warm weekend of the year, the reluctant Ernie had been well and truly coaxed into obliging her.

When the great day arrived, Angie, being romantic, brought a jug of wine, a loaf of bread, some cheese, and a copy of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. Ernie, being practical, brought a plastic ground cloth, a blanket, and a first aide kit. He also brought his dog, an aging but still inquisitive beagle named, Buford.

The chosen spot was under a towering tree in an out-of-the-way rustic glen. Ernie busied himself smoothing a spot and spreading the ground cover and blanket. The moment these tasks were completed, he learned what Angie had been doing. Wearing nothing but a big smile, she jumped onto the blanket and pulled him down beside her.

Foreplay was not on the agenda. Ernie’s clothes seemed to vanish, followed moments later by his phenomenal phallus. But while neither participant had any idea where his clothes were, both knew the exact location of his magnificent manhood.

Even with his endurance and her desire, that first explosion of passion couldn’t last forever. When they started to recover, a jug of wine and a loaf of bread weren’t what Angie wanted. She wasn’t even interested in Ernie being beside her singing in the wilderness. What interested her was having him on his back with his prodigious protuberance well positioned while she sat on top, controlling the pace and teasing him with her breasts.

Thanks to her remarkable ability to coax men, she soon had everything she wanted. In a way, Angie was like Will Rogers except she never met a sexual position she didn’t like. But this one was special. It generated a wave of warm, tender emotions she felt compelled to share with her lover.

Words failed her before she could make any specific comments regarding the exquisite pressure Ernie’s erection was creating or how being able to look around at all the beauties of nature was adding to her pleasure. But he seemed to understand.

A large tree trunk blocked the view directly in front of her. But there were butterflies in the wildflowers to her left. A few feet away on the right, birds flew in and out of a large thicket. Ernie’s old dog was nearby, stretched out on its belly in a patch of sunlight, watching them and slowly wagging its tail. She wondered what the dog thought about all this. Was he bored or enjoying the show?

Making love like this was so good, so right. She cupped her breasts, kneading and rotating the heavy globes. Doing that always felt sexy, and like most guys, Ernie seemed fascinated. She noticed the dog’s tail was moving faster. Maybe they both were. The thought made her giggle.

She began a slow rocking motion back and forth, enjoying the, oh so fulfilling sensation. Making love outdoors was even better than she’d imagined. Feeling the sun and wind on your bare skin was such a turn-on. Everything was peaceful and sexy. The sounds of nature were accompanied by rhythmic sound of their lovemaking.

The more she thought about the scene, the hotter she got. It wasn’t long before she was leaning forward, hands on Ernie’s shoulders, her full breasts swaying back and forth, gently slapping against his face as he tried to capture one of the erect, elusive nipples with his lips.

Angie felt herself slipping into the moment, her body taking control as her mind became a swirl of sensory delights. Ernie latched onto one of her breasts. He sucked hard, taking in more and more flesh before releasing just enough to let him chew on the sensitive nipple.

On some subconscious level, Angie knew her hips were moving faster and faster, knew Ernie was meeting each downward stroke with a hard, upward thrust, knew she was on the brink of an outdoor orgasm for the ages.

That’s when something very cold, very wet, and totally unexpected pushed in between the cheeks of her exposed, and unsuspecting bottom. At the moment, she was halfway through what should have been the penultimate downward plunge. Instead of rushing on to blissful completion, her body braked to a halt. Defying all known laws of inertia, it reversed directions with such speed and force she pulled a lower back muscle. This went unnoticed at the time and does not appear to have impeded her subsequent movements.

The rapid reversal was accompanied by a spectacular sound. It bore a striking resemblance, in both its high frequency and even higher volume, to the nerve shattering screech emitted by well-tuned tornado alert sirens in the great state of Kansas.

With a speed that would have pleased an Olympic sprinter coming off the starting line, she was rushing away from the cold terror down below. The terror in question was just another one of nature’s marvels, in this case the cold, wet nose of Buford the beagle. Although she later became aware of the circumstances surrounding this incident, the news in no way mollified Angie.

We need to stop at this point and consider the situation. Ernie is naked and on his back with an empty mouth and an exposed erection in the initial stages of what has suddenly become a mid-air explosion. As with all men during such events, his mind has shutdown.

Buford, the nosey beagle who triggered this event, is wondering what happened to the source of all those strange sounds and tempting smells. Although possibly unfamiliar with either the band or the term, not unlike the bearded troubadours of ZZ Top, he’s just looking for some tush.

The miniscule portion of Angie’s cerebral cortex still in working order is wondering how to get even further away from whatever the hell that cold, wet, disgusting thing was that just assaulted her rear. This strong, instinctual desire to flee is about to present a very big problem.

Although no member of this dysfunctional ménage-au-trios is aware of the fact, a thick blanket of pine needles covers the ground around them. These needles helped cushion the earth’s surface for Angie and Ernie while providing a happy home for blood-sucking parasites such as ticks and redbugs.

As is often the case with pine needles when thus observed, these are all dead and have fallen from overhanging limbs. For needles to work as nature intended, they must have a direct connection to a tree limb. If limbs are to function properly, they need to be attached to a tree trunk. And it follows, as night doth the day, that trunks not securely attached to the ground cease supporting the life above them and become logs, firewood, or a building material.

As realtors are always quick to remind us, location is everything. The instigator of this crisis, Buford the beagle, is currently out of harm’s way. However, the heads of Ernie and Angie are positioned mere inches from a very thick, very hard, very immovable tree trunk. To be precise, it is the trunk of an otherwise unoffending (Pinus taeda), more commonly referred to as a loblolly pine.

Ernie’s head is more or less immobile. And since he’s still occupied firing away into the wild blue yonder, his brain remains completely inoperative. He is, therefore, relatively safe.

The same cannot be said for Angie or her head. The portion commonly referred to as her mouth is wide open and busy responding to the brain’s terror alert by screaming like a Hollywood B movie actress confronting a particularly gruesome monster. Along with the rest of Angie’s body, it is hurtling forward with mind-boggling speed.

Due to the extreme velocity of this motion, the distance between the top of her head and the tree trunk is diminishing at a rate any impartial observer would describe as, alarming. Some might even be moved to add, very. The laws of motion being what they are, the top of head “A” (Angie) is mere nanoseconds away from contacting the side of object “T”(guess) with a loud—

THUNK!

After-action damage assessment:

Angie:1. Pulled muscle in lower back2. Large contusion (bump) on head3. Assorted teeth marks on left nipple4. Spine in need of adjustment5. Neck in need of adjustment6. Numerous itchy redbug and tick bites7. A tendency towards anxiety attacks when attempting the female superior position8. A badly sprained wrist (note: This can only be indirectly attributed to the collision. The chief precipitating factor appears to have been her administering a “good one” to Ernie’s jaw.)

Ernie:1. One loose tooth (it was a very “good one”)2. A busted lip (see number one)3. Numerous itchy redbug and tick bites4. A chronic case of semen retention headache resulting from Angie terminating (with extreme prejudice) her rewards program

Buford:1. A well-grounded fear of angry, large-breasted, naked, female-type humans2. Chronic nightmares of one such human, with a big bump on her head and a large tree limb held in one hand, chasing him for miles